


Wraith of Lake Sorough

by ToraMigsby



Category: Human!AUFive Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToraMigsby/pseuds/ToraMigsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While walking home, Tristian Vitale goes through a few mysterious events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wraith of Lake Sorough

{ He strolled by the banks of Lake Sorough... }

With the wind blowing through his long, dark chestnut brown hair and the sun's warmth grazing his cheeks, he stood by the docks of Lake Sorough. The current was slow and ever-flowing and seemed as if they would never stop, and with the oncoming breeze, he assumed that they would just get fierce by the time he left for home. The young man, rightfully named Tristian, gazed out at the horizon and took in the dimness of the sky, watching passerby ships gliding across the water. He'd always enjoyed quiet places, and Lake Sorough was very exceptional to him; his own little private area for pondering and just taking a load off for when he wanted to sit and be still. He loved it a lot. He stopped to check his watch which read 6:34 P.M.; he needed to get home before Taylor and Isaac started to worry. His children of only 8 were polar opposites, yet when it came to their father, they would do anything to keep him safe and happy. He must be home by eight that noght, orvelse they would worry. He didn't want that. After deciding that it was time for him to leave for home, he turned his back toward the water and began walking off the docks. 

The wind made a sudden change of course when it largebgusts of the warm summer air flew past him, causing his glasses to nearly fall of of his face. Shaky hands barely caught the frames in time when, to his shock, the waves began to pick up and his entire right arm was engulfed and drenched in the sea water, and his spectacles were trapped within the tides, forever lost. Tristian's eyes became as wide and bulging as saucers, and his breath hitched in his throat; he felt as if he would choke. Oh, of all days, why does this have to happen? Why him? He had done nothing wrong. He was a hard-working, respectable being of a man with an adoration of nature and the quantities it held. He'd never wish or cause any harm on another human or animal of any size or stature. What could have caused him to have such misfortune so quickly? He sat in defeat on his knees at the docks, his soaked hand restingnon his pants leg and water dripping onto the tip of his dress shoes. He felt a twinge of guilt and shame in his heart; he'd lost his privilege of sight, and now he couldn't ever see what was in front of him at all. 

 

Darn it all, his mind screamed within him. He could have grabbed the glasses before they'd fallen in; that is, if he hadn't been caught up in the miniature tornado that occurred a few minutes ago. Darn this ghastly wind! Oh, how it blows against me, like that of a screaming child. Though his vision was blurry and frayed, he stared down at his feet, eyes squinting with strain, holding his forsaken loss. He hadn't nthw faintest idea on how to retrieve the adrift object - how could he get them back? Regardless of being over six feet tall, this was a man who had a deep and dark fear of the ocean. A horrible, terrible one, in fact. He wondered why he went to the docks to begin with. He was simply strolling along, on his way home after a hard day's work atbthe University. He thought of how beautiful the scenery looked and decided to Stop for a while and watch as the seagulls strayed by above his head, calling after one another in a row. It was quiet as usual, seeing as no boats whizzed by alongside the water or any animals of any kind came roaming about the grass and the banks. Lake Sorough was a regularly silent area of the town. No one really bothered it, soke seeing it as manily the home of nature's creatures and not a food preserve. 

 

Time went on, and the sky became a more darker hue of blue; the sun began to descend into the horizon, leaving a shade of dim light to crawl onto his face. Tristian needed to do something, and fast. It would be night soon and his children would become so scared of their father's disappearance that they'd most likely call the police. Despite his good friend Aren, who was watching bthem at the time, being there, having not seen their father would most definitely caused them great distress. By then, his glasses were probably at the bottom of the sea bynnow, and he would not dive down there and get them. He couldn't wait; he needed a plan. He aimlessly fiddled with the loose strings of his shirt (a habbit he'd perform when anxious), his eyes wandering from his feet and to his hands. What to do, he thought, what to do? What could he do, in a situation like this? Of he were to go out and buy another pair, the frames would cost at least over seventy dollars, but his paycheck wouldn't be given to him for another three to four days after he'd make an appointment for the purchase. That couldn't be done. He hated to reserve things, especially the most important to him. He couldn't wait that long without his sight. His job and his life hanged in the balance of his sight. His entire being was dependent completely on that one thing! 

 

The sound of a faraway whistle made way into his ears, startling him and making him jump up and look around from his left and right. How was that possible? There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, and on a Friday, no less! The lake was cleared from all machinery and people as a law of getting the area cleaned of debris ad garbage for the weekend. Everyone knows that. But who in their right mind would show up at this time of the evening? He quirked a brow and turned to the direction of the whistle blowing again. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the side of a medium sized boat come into view and there stood a man, bellowing loudly as he worked the steering wheel. He was clearly drunk, otherwise why would he be here of all places? It made no sense to Trisitan at all. The whole event made him upset to his core. Nature bwss to be treated with up most respect, not like some circus. He had to do something

 

Building of what confidence he had in him, and with a frown on his face, he cupped his hands at his mouth and letnout amshout at the ship, "This is a private area! You're not allowed to have your boat put on the water!" The man had heard him, he thought, anyways. A head full of shaggy, short brown hair turned toward him, eyes bulging and red. He wore a plain white T-shirt over a Hawaiian-style floral patterned top, knahki shorts at his waist, and dark brown boots at his feet. The mere sight of the man made Tristian cringe slightly inside, but he held it in, continuing to stand his ground. "You can't be hete!," he shouted at him, "They're cleaning the lake today! You need to leave!" The man wouldn't budge. He stated at him with a harsh look of disgust on his face, and hate seen in his eyes. He spit out what looked to be a splotch of tobacco onto the floor. A terrible misuse of a fine ship. He cracked his knuckles with his hand and frowned at him. "What's it to you, huh?" he yelled back at the squinting man, "You can't tell me what to do, you jackass! What do you care, anyways?! It's Friday, and I want to go fishing!"

 

Tristian couldn't believe his ears. Fishing at the lake was illegal; actually, now that he thought about it, swimming there wasn't allowed either. This man was breaking the law! He couldn't believe it; this man was stone drunk and he had the gall to tell him to mind his own business? I don't think so! He wouldn't be ran away so easily. Just as he was about to call out to the man again, Trisitan's eyes darted out to a long net that was attached to a large fishing pole in the front of the boat. Various kinds of fish flopped up an down inside it, their mouths wide open and breathing in the horrors oxygen which burned in their field and to their lungs. They would surely suffocate in a matter of minutes! He pointed to the ship, "Take down that net! Put them back!" The man would not move an inch. Tristian moved fanatically on the docks, pointing to the fish and then at the man. He kept shouting fornuik to release them, but all he did was glare daggers. It was no use; he knew his stubbornness was a powerful mask to hidenhis true nature. Some people were just too difficult to tame. He ignored him as he held up his middle finger at him, booming out to him on how much of a "fucking Italian pansy" he was. He ignored his crude remarks, of course, his panicked gaze still focused on the net. Plop, plop, the fish went. 

 

To his shock, in his hands the man held a small pistol. He dropped it in shaky hands, placing the bullets inside the canister and then holding it out in front of him, the front of it now facing the older man. Tristian jumped and shook his head, putting his hands up defensively, "No! You don't have to do that!" he called out to him, his tone sounding higher, "I'm only trying to help you!" 

 

"Go bother someone else," the man replied, a hand on his pocket, "Stop bothering me! I'll fish outnherenwhen I like and you can't tell me otherwise!' 

 

Just then, something occurred to him that surprised them both. Sanding at over seven feet tall was a massive wave, just a few inches behind the man and his boat. It roared and it was nearing for the two at full speed. The wind made it seem even scarier up close, especially from Tristian's view. He shouted for the man to quickly turnnhis boat tomthr side of the wave, hoping that it would allow him to be free from its grip, but it was of no use. The boat, along with its passenger, came crashing down into the water; the tide nearly snapped it in two! Bubbles formed and quickly desipated back into the waters, the waves now subsiding, and what now hung in the air was a long and eerie silence. His eyes widened, twitching, and his mouth hung open like a bullfrog waiting for flies. His body shook and his mind cluttered with thoughts buzzing in and out of it. 

 

The man was gone. Dead!

He had just witnessed the death of a stranger - a rude one - but a human being nonetheless. He couldn't believe his eyes; he couldn't feel anything anymore. He was a leftover shell, and his heart stung with despair....guilt was what he felt. He felt horrible to have made this happen. It was his fault the man had died in the wave. How could he have been so stupid, so careless? He could have saved him from his terrible fate, and yet he was too afraid and proud to take his focus away from the fish. Only the fish mattered to him and not an actual talking-waking person! He hated himself dearly for it. 

 

When he finally regained his composure and strength, he saw out of the corner of eye something folded and tattered. He forced his shaking legs to move him toward the object, now walking toward the edge of the docks. He lowered his head and looked down to see the net. The net from the man's boat. Most of the fish had escaped from the prison, but some still resided within the ropes. He reached a hand and lifted up an open flap from it and one by one each fish swam back into the ocean. It'd be best for the net not to stay floating in the water, and so he grasped both ends of it and pulled it forward to him, tugging it out of the water. He was jerked back by ansudden strong force when he realized how the net would not go any further than s few inches near the soil. He assumed it had gotten caught on soemthing; maybe a rock or a stick deep in the mud. He pulled again, but it didn't move. He placed the ropes onto the ground and rested his foot on them, keeping them safe and away from being dragged by into the waters before making his way over to whatever was holding the net down. He trailed the tangled mess with his eyes, keeping his foot on an end and keeping his distance between him and the lake. When reaching the other end of the net, he grabbed at it; he was surprised when his fingers brushed against something slimy and rough. That was no rock, he thought, giving a look of confusion, his brows knit together. It felt like a plant - kelp, he thought it was. Or perhaps seaweed. Whatever it was made him feel a bit uneasy, but the net still needed to be cleared from the lake. Forget about the fears and keep going, he told himself. 

 

He held a hand around the unknown object and tried his best to tug it off of the ropes. The net wouldn't move an inch. He triee again, only this time he pulled his hand out of the water and his eyes bukdged out in horror. Blood was on his hands; fresh, dark splotches stained his tan skin and underneath his fingernails. He let out a paicked yelp and backed away from the scene, only to have his foot get caught within the ropes. He fell back onto the ground and on his head and groaned weakly. He sat up smelly, the hand covered with blood resting at his forehead. He quickly pullernit away and looked down to see his ankle wrapped in the holes of the net; he was stuck now. He bent down to untie the bounds, but they wouldn't come off; no matter how hard he tried, the ropes would remain where they were. He frowned at his failed attempt and thought for a minute on how to resolve it all. He hadn't anything sharp on him to cut them with, nor could he yank them off of him with ease without cutting his fingers with the sharp tips of bounds. He sighed in frustration and looked around for something, anything to help him be free. He sat there in shameful silence, his clothes getting dreadfully soaked, and his skin felt cold against it all. It was a sickly feeling to him. 

 

He shuddered at the sudden feeling of something touching his leg. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked over to see a slippery-looking thing turn and the eyes stared directly into his. A body; it was an entire human body! It was the man from before. The torso was entirely bitten through, a massive chunk of the meat cut off from the piece, and a large cloud of blood was scattered in the water. The man's head was caved in as if it had been ran over by a tractor, parts of the brain hanging losely by a wire, and the eyes were smashed and forced back into his skull. The rest of the body was twisted and bent in various ways unimaginable for one to look at a distance. It made Tristian want to vomit right then and there, but the scene became even worse when he heard the rush of another wave come flying by. He looked up and saw it coming into view, and he would have gotten up and ran if it hadn't been for that darn rope holding him down! He tried desperately to untie it, rip it from his leg, bite it, but it was all for not. He clawed at the dirt, trying to grip onto anything to pull him back to safety, all the while as the body the was connected to the net kept pulling him down deeper into the water. Tears welled up in the corner of his eyes - the wave was getting closer. The roaring began to get louder and louder; it made his ears ring in agony. God, please, don't let me die! I don't want to die; I still need to raise Taylor and Isaac, to see them grow up and mature. Please! Please! Have mercy! 

 

Once he opened his eyes again, he had found himself back onto the soil, forehead sticky with sea water and sweat, his bangs at his eyes. His ankle was finally rid of the rope, however it left a harsh-looking red scar, in which he cringed at. He lifted himself off of the ground with shaky hands and legs and sighed. It was pitch black, a quarter past eight o'clock at night. The waters sounded calm and looked clear, the milky blue color of the little waves reflecting the dim moonlight. He stared out at his surroundings with wide and empty eyes, relieved that it was all over. Looking around, he rummaged through the large stalks of grass and back onto the docks, the heels of his dress shoes clicking soflty under the wood. A lot had occurred that evening, and he just wanted to forget it all. But one thing wasn't clear to him: how on earth did he get back onto shore so easily? He was stuck in the water, scared and alone, fearing the worst was yet to come. And now, he was here, tired, cold and safe on land. How did all happen? 

 

Fog began to peer through the clearing, making it even more difficult to see much. He remembered how he still hadn't found his glasses. Of all the problems in his life, this was one of the worst. He sighed and kept looking, hoping to find them. He never could. "Why can't I do anything right?!" He screamed out into open air, his voice echoing silently. He breathed heavily and frowned out at the sky, shoulders tense and chest rising with oxygen. He hated this. He hated every single thing of what just happened! How could this have happened, and so suddenly? He was simply going home, nothing more; and now he was stuck in this odd predicament. Left alone, a wandering man with nowhere to turn. He just hated it all. But enough thinking right now; he needed his glasses! He bent down and trailed his hands through the grass, squinting his eyes and searching for any sign of a glint of the frames. 

But there was no sign of them. He gripped his hair in frustration and sighed exasperatedly in defeat. He sat in the ground and wrapped his around around himself, staring out at the lake. It was getting hard to see more and more. He almost felt light-headed after seeing all the fog go by. He felt sick to his stomach. 

 

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen it. The faint glint of light, masking between his eyes. His glassses! His wonderful glasses, sitting on a rock by the water. He'd found them! He quickly sprang up and took them in his hands, shouting a "thank you" up above and smiling widely. It's odd, though, they weren't damp at all; not one drop of water hung off of them. But at that moment, Trisitan didn't care. He was too overjoyed with his discovery to notice them dry. He placed them on his face and at last he could see again. What a joy it was for him! He dusted himself off, despite the fact that his attire was utterly incompetent. He gathered up himself and made his way off of the docks and down the dirt path. As he was turning a corner to make a right down the road, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A person's face lay between the stalks of grass, the color of light gray casting over it, long bangs of mussy, straight, jet black hang scattered in front of it, making the rest of its features. He could have sworn he'd seen a pair of clear blue dots watch him as he walked on down the road home that mysterious night. 

 

No one believed the stories, but some say that there beneath the dark waves rests a monster, ready to strike anyone who dared to step one foot onto its land. Strangely enough though, it hadn't taken him down. 

 

Why hadn't the beast claimed the man with no glasses that day?


End file.
